


The Talon and the Demon's Heir

by LittleNest



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Canon-Typical Violence, Damian's conception, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dick and Damian are the same age, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jean-Jacques Goldman reference for the win, Now with added Joe Dassin, Variété française has taken over this fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleNest/pseuds/LittleNest
Summary: The verse sang "fly me away".As he cried after the Court sent him to his first murder, he sang that line again and again, hoping someone might come fly him away.One day, someone did.orDick used to be a Talon, until this kid got him out of the Court and threw him into another prison. Only this time, they both plan to escape - with Batman's help.





	1. Prologue: Envole-Moi

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is actually my first fiction in English, which is kind of terrifying?  
> I've been toying with this idea for a while, and decided to finish and post it to celebrate International Fanworks Day.  
> Anyway, the idea came to me as I was listening to M. Pokora and Tal's cover of Jean-Jacques Goldman's "Envole moi" which is an awesome song about children born in misery who fight to get out of it. I prefer the original, but the cover is good in its own right. It first made me think of Jason, but then Jason has no reason to speak French + the whole flying thing is totally Dick. So I imagined Dick as Robin singing it for charity or something, and then having an interview, and explaining he sung it in a cell, and then someone came to fly him away, except it wasn't Batman, it was a child soldier, and together they murdered his jailers, the end.  
> This is not really the story you're about to read.  
> Beta-ed by the wonderful kiehtova, who has an awesome fiction here, but I don't know how to hyperlink her profile.

He could only watch as blood seeped from the wound, slowly flowed along the blade, and dripped to the ground.

It was either that or looking in those cold, wide, glassy eyes, and how could a dead person have such an accusatory look?

What had he done? 

* * *

Talia offered him a glass of herbal wine to appease his tremors. He gratefully accepted it.

All it took was a glass of wine.

When the new dawn came, he did his best to put that day behind him and avoid thinking of it at all cost. But whenever he did, he was blinded by the blood and the pain and the shame. 

Had he looked back on it, he might've wondered why he couldn't remember what happened next.

Even then, he probably would have put it on shock.

It wouldn't have changed anything.

(Shock really was a powerful thing.)

* * *

 He left the League after that. Went to Gotham, swore to never kill again, and became Batman.

It was a lonely life, that of a vigilante. Of course, there was Alfred, but despite his best qualities, he wasn't the liveliest of companions.

Then came the circus. The acrobats, the fall. The orphan that was so much like him.

Bruce knew Gotham's system could do nothing for Richard. He knew the kid needed the stability and empathy a group home couldn't provide, the closure GCPD would be unable – unwilling – to give him.

He knew only him could save that boy.

He left the circus that night decided to shelter him, if only for a while, until he could find his parents' murderer.

Had he been honest with himself, he would've admitted that he wanted more than temporary, that he wanted the light he had seen on that trapeze to shine in his home.

Even then, he couldn't have known that the boy would disappear right after the incident.

It wouldn't have changed anything.

(The Batman was powerful, but so was the Court.) 

* * *

Once, when the circus was in France, he heard a song that really moved him. He didn't remember the lyrics – didn't understand most of it, really – but he knew the verse sang “fly me away”. It was about children born in misery who fight for a chance to get out of it.

As he performed back then, he hoped he was good enough to fly the poor kids in the audience away, if only for a night.

As he cried after the Court sent him to his first murder, he sang that line again and again, hoping someone might come fly him away.

But days went by, then months, a year, and no one ever came.

Until one day, someone did.

* * *

 

He was sitting in his room – cell – when a child no older than him barged in, sword in hand.

Apparently, the intruder had been forbidden from taking prisoners, but nothing had been said on gaining allies. 

He blinked, prompting an explanation. 

As he was a held in a cell, he was considered the enemy of the intruder's enemies, and as such, he was given a choice: if he didn't want the intruder to drive a blade through his chest, the Talon had to drive his own through his old masters'.

It wasn't a hard choice, really. Although...

"I do not have a blade," he answered, gathering his claws. "I have ten."

And so he followed his new ally, their psycho mother and her army of killer ninjas, and proceeded to murder the Court.

* * *

When all was said and done, Talia refused to bring the Talon with them. She did not trust a soldier who had so easily turned against his previous masters.

She could not really explain that to Damian, however, as he argued that he would not betray the League because he would be treated as he deserved, and find a new reason to fight for their greater purpose.

She couldn't risk her kid realizing that he was in the exact situation he had saved his new friend from.

She was defeated when Damian pointed out that the Talon had saved his life, too, and thus, by the sacred rules of Nanda Parbat, he had a debt to repay and needed him by his side to do so.

The League of Shadows was supposed to be the first stone of the new, perfect world they wanted to create. If they did not follow its principles, how could they claim that moral high ground?

(Of course there wasn't any moral high ground, nor was there any greater purpose apart from dominating the world, but Damian could not know that. He was still too young.)

So he followed them to Nanda Parbat, where the Talon became the new guardian of the Heir to the Demon, and Richard became Damian's first, only and best friend. 

* * *

If asked, he could not have told why he had been so adamant about not killing the Talon. There had been something in his posture, this mix of cold despair and dignified acceptance.

Fortunately, no one would ever have dared ask, otherwise that something might have been identified as pity – sympathy, even. Such weak feelings did not suit Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson.

Neither did the warmth that spread in Damian’s chest whenever his new bodyguard was near, or the icy grip that clenched his heart when his grandfather had considered disposing of him.

Richard was dangerous.

Yet, Damian could not help but feel that the kid was his salvation.

The Talon was loyal, and seemed to take his mission to heart. But that was not what made him appreciate his presence so much.

Richard was kind, as kind as a member of the League could afford to be – sometimes even kinder, which had led to painful punishments Damian had had to give him himself. Yet Richard had never blamed him for those, had merely smiled and settled back into their routine, as if nothing had happened. 

* * *

He knew as soon as Richard started doubting. The boy didn't mumble in his sleep, nor had he changed his behavior. But he knew.

He also knew he had to report these treasonous thoughts, knew he had to eliminate a potential threat before it could turn into a security breach.

But he didn't.

How could he? Somewhere, somehow, he had started to trust Richard more than his own mother or grandfather.

Instead he told him. Not in so many words, of course, that would have been too dangerous. But they were past needing words to communicate.

So Richard explained. Distant memories of his mother's teachings, a deep rooted conviction that he couldn't explain, except it had to come from _before_ , from a time when he was not Talon.

That was it. This was more than enough to warrant execution. This was heresy. But Damian was curious. He wanted to know about these evasive concepts that challenged everything he had learned.

Nanda Parbat valued truth, but perhaps truth did not reside in Nanda Parbat. 

* * *

Thus they started plotting. It quickly went far past “dangerous”, but it was too late. Every bit of the new moral code they built together from Richard's hazy memories and the few outside people they managed to interrogate – mostly locals they were sent to kill – made more sense, until they saw this little fault in the carefully constructed logic of the Sacred City's laws.

Slowly, it all came apart. They started seeing the hypocrisy behind every word.

They immediately stopped their research. This was too much, this was too dangerous. They needed out, quickly, before someone caught them.

At night, Damian dreamt of being far away, somewhere he could try out these new morals. Above all, he dreamt of names for this warmth: more than trust, it was brotherhood, _fondness_.

At night, he blessed Richard for freeing him.

During the day, the two kept honoring their wrong duties.

During the day, Damian cursed himself for trapping the Talon. 

* * *

They needed to get out. But getting out in itself was the easy part. The problem was how to _stay_ out. Once the League would realize their betrayal, it wouldn't be long before they were found and disposed of.

There were exactly two ways of escaping the League's grasp: being impossible to find – which they didn't think was actually possible – or being somewhere the League preferred not to send its men – they didn't think there were places the League's men couldn't go with enough means, but there were places that weren't worth the trouble.

Namely, the USA. Or at least the places most protected by the Justice League.

It was really unclear who would win the fight, in an all-out war between the League of Shadows and the Justice League, but neither side truly wanted to find out, as whichever won would find themselves so weakened in the outcome that any other enemy would be able to finish them off.

This was the reason the League of Shadows had tried to gain a foothold in Gotham through destroying the Court of Owls, but like every previous attempt, it had failed.

Gotham was their destination, it seemed.

That actually could work, as Damian remembered his mother saying his father was American. She also told him he was a great warrior, and what a shame it was that he was so stubborn and unable to realize the League of Shadows held the hope of humanity.

Damian was starting to think maybe his father had been right in leaving while he could. Perhaps his father was using the Justice League's presence as an advantage. Perhaps his father's presence was also part of the reason the League of Shadows had troubles gaining some influence there.

Perhaps his father would be willing to extend his protection?

There was only one way to find out. 

* * *

The first issue would be to figure out who his father was. True, he had this little birthday battle bets going on with his mother, but he could not afford to wait until he could beat her.

He didn't think he would be able to do much in a meeting controlled by the League, anyway.

Fortunately, Richard had more experience in betraying his alliances, and was better at using their resources against them – as shown by how he had managed to sneak his claws in his cell.

Damian's father was obviously a man of interest for the League, which meant information about it had to be stored somewhere accessible to the leaders, a file most probably complete with a DNA sample. Considering that they had a walking and breathing example of Damian's DNA, it was only a matter of time before they matched it with his father's. 

Not that Damian had any illusion: obviously he wouldn't have access to that file. But maybe, just maybe, Richard could get clearance to the uncensored database.

* * *

 

Breaking his own leg was both painful and humiliating. It was necessary, however, and if there was one teaching Damian would keep from his time in the League, it was the ability to put his goal before his personal safety.

Thus impaired, Damian had to stay home for this outside meeting he was supposed to follow his grandfather to, which meant his mother had taken his place, leaving him relatively unsupervised. He didn't doubt he would pay for this ill-timed incompetence. It didn't matter anymore, though.

As Damian's bodyguard, Richard stayed too. He took a blood sample from his friend, and went on his way to the labs.

This was the tricky part of the plan. If someone tried to attack Damian while he was unguarded, or if someone saw that Richard wasn't where he should be, or if he didn't manage to erase all traces of this research once it was done... suffice to say the results would be unpleasant for both of them.

* * *

Luck, however, seemed to be on their side, and Richard did not come across anyone during his trip. All for the better, as he was not exactly thinking clearly on the way back.

Damian's father did not just benefit of the Justice League presence in the US. Damian's father was a member of the Justice League.

“Damian Wayne-Al Ghul, Demon's Heir, Son of the Bat” certainly had a nice ring to it, Richard thought.

This had just gotten interesting _._

* * *

Once Damian had gotten over the fact that his father was his grandfather's nemesis, they began to draft a plan.

Actually, as far as plans went, what they had wasn't anything his strategy teachers would have been proud of. (They were all dead, anyway. What did they know about safe plans?)

They used all the few contacts they had managed to make during their search for truth, and managed to obtain a burner phone, which they used to sent a text to Bruce Wayne's personal cell, hoping the man would believe them.

Maybe there was a deity somewhere, or an all-powerful law of balance that decided they both had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, or maybe Batman was just **that** thorough.

One way or another, he came. 

* * *

To say he was surprised when he received a text from an unknown number in the middle of a meeting with his shareholders saying he had a son with Talia al Ghul – of all people – would have been a gross understatement. He was confused and disbelieving and angry and ashamed and he honestly wasn't sure what else, because he kind of blacked out.

Alfred – bless his soul – managed to appease the spirits angered by Bruce’s abrupt departure, as well as calm the man down and help him decide what to do.

Not that there was an actual question about that. If this was true, then his son had been living in the League of Assassins for more than ten years, and that was unacceptable.

If it wasn't, there was someone out there who knew not only his secret identity, but also about his brief time with the League.

Either way, he needed to investigate. 

* * *

He landed the jet as close as he dared to the complex, and camouflaged it as best as he could. He had no doubt that it would be spotted, but hopefully he'd have enough time before it happened. 

He was sneaking in a corridor, trying to guess where Talia would accommodate his son, when he received an alert that someone was trying to open the jet. He swore under his breath.

He had to find this child. But he knew if he took the child and didn't manage to leave with him, Talia would make sure he would never have this opportunity again.

For now, however, she didn't know why he was here, and if he left, she would assume it was only to steal information, and he would have time to plan another infiltration.

Praying a god that he didn't believe in that his son would forgive him, he made his way back to the jet.

* * *

When the vehicle came into view, he half expected guards trying to identify it. Maybe even Talia or Ra's, if he was unlucky. He had not expected two small figures fiddling with the lock.

As he approached, one of them turned around: the face was unmistakably that of his son. It seemed he had found a friend, then.

He crossed the distance separating him from the boys, concealing his apprehension.

“Need a ride, boys?” He asked in his best sarcastic gothamite tone.

The second head rose to face him, and he was surprised to recognize it.

He had had more than a few nightmares about that poor circus boy he had failed to save.

Just what was Dick Grayson doing with the League of Assassins?

This had just gotten _interesting_.


	2. Si tu n'existais pas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy International Fanworks Day! Also happy birthday to this fiction ^^' I'd say unexpected things happened and use all kinds of excuses, but the thing is, I actually didn't expect to update this fic more often than yearly, because that's about the update frequency of all my other fics. I just forgot to warn you last year (I could have sworn I had, but apparently not). Either way, I managed to write chapter two right on time for today o/  
> Fun fact: I had something completely different planned, with angst and ill-adjusted assassins running away in Gotham and everything, but it just wouldn't let itself be written, and then I was just casually listening to Joe Dassin's "Si tu n'existais pas" and fluff and hugging happened instead. (that's actually a love song, but I promise no shipping is currently planned, and if that ever changes, it will not be while they're ten)  
> So anyway here is chapter two, and I'm also going to fix the skipped lines in chapter 1, because they're ugly and I was too lazy to do it last year, and also a big "thank you" to my amazing beta and to all the people who commented, subscribed and kudo-ed, your support is appreciated :)

The ride back was pretty quiet – that is, once they had finally lost the missiles. Bruce had no idea what to say, and the boys seemed to just be naturally silent. Well, Damian could be, at least; the boy Bruce remembered from the circus had been quite lively, but he supposed whoever or whatever took him from a Gotham circus to the League of Shadows had made it a second nature to him. Either way, neither boy seemed to notice the awkwardness, busy as they were observing both him and the jet somewhat warily. The mistrust, if not unexpected, was a bit hurtful – had he not rescued them after they had contacted him? That was actually pretty concerning: was life in Nanda Parbat so awful that their last resort had been to call someone they didn’t trust?

Bruce was so lost in thoughts, he only realized he'd forgotten to tell Alfred they were to have two guests as they flew over the limits of Gotham city. He promptly corrected this omission. If the butler had taken any time to freak out over the fact, he'd gotten over it by the time the plane landed in the Cave. He stood stiffly by the landing dock to greet them. After a short yet formal introduction, he turned to his master and announced that he had prepared the rooms on each side of Bruce's for the boys to sleep in.

Upon hearing the words, their bodies _shifted_ , so much that Bruce wondered how he had thought they were tense before. Same went for their faces, which lit with something he couldn't quite place for a single moment. They were adopting the fakest, blankest facial expression he had ever seen, even in the mirror. For a split second, he actually expected them to attack Alfred, but nothing happened. They just turned to him, as though waiting for the next order.

Unsure of what to do, Bruce suggested they take some time to get familiar with the cave while he got changed into civilian clothing. He half-expected some kind of protest, perhaps even an indication as to what was wrong, now that someone had broken the silence. He received nothing, not even when he asked – almost ordered – them not to touch anything. All he got was twin nods of agreement, clearly directed at him, but no eye contact whatsoever. While he had not quite expected mutiny, he was surprised by this somewhat servile obedience. Surely the son of Talia al Ghul would not take kindly to being ordered around? Surely the exuberant Richard “Dick” Grayson would be delighted to explore his new surroundings or disappointed to be forbidden from touching anything?

Clearly, he thought as he undressed, even though he was one of these boys' father and had been looking for the other for years, he knew nothing about them. It bothered him – a lot. Then and there, he decided he would have to discuss things with them. The earlier the better.

* * *

At the darkest hour of the night, Richard quietly left his room. He did not like being Talon, and all the efforts that had led him to this had been part of a plan to stop being Talon. Yet, as it was, he still was Talon, and thus, no one heard him, because no one ever hears Talon. Not even Bruce, who slept right there and knew all the natural sounds of the house, even in slumber. He opened his door, closed it, and, on the lightest of feet, passed Batman's door and slipped into Damian's room. Only habit enabled Damian not to jump at the sudden appearance in his room

 “Grayson?” He whispered, unable – unwilling – to hide his confusion from his trusted partner. “What are you doing here? We have been assigned different rooms, and I do not wish to displease my father so early in our stay.”

“Nothing was said against leaving them. This isn't _explicitly_ forbidden.”

In the years he had silently rebelled against his masters, first the Court and then the League, Richard had quickly learned the subtleties of technical obedience. Of course, that particular behavior was often punished in the Court, but the feeling of victory had been worth it. In the League, Talia had sometimes been in good enough a mood to be amused and almost impressed, leaving him unpunished in reward of his wit.

(Richard did not like to dwell on the times she had been annoyed or absent, if only because Damian saw it in his face and then would blame himself for hours.)

Still seeing conflict on his partner's face, Richard walked to the bed and sat down next to Damian, who was now leaning against the headboard.

“Damian, don't you remember why we are here? I care about you, I want to be allowed to say it, and show it. If I can't, why did we leave the League at all?”

The other boy was still silently looking at him, his face a mixture of wariness and confusion, as well as just the slightest sign of hope. He looked more out of his depths than Richard had ever seen him. It made sense of course, as unlike the Talon, he had never known any normal life, and could only work with his partner's words. Those words would have to be good, then.

“I don't remember much, but I know people who care about each other like each other's company.” He hesitated. “They also like to... hug, sometimes...”

To prove his point, he carefully wrapped one arm around the other's shoulder.

For a moment, Damian stayed perfectly still. He was barely even bold enough to dare use such words as “caring”, but this closeness... While Talon had slept in Damian's room to assure his protection, it was always either on the floor or at best a mattress next to the bed, and yet here they were, hugging. It did not feel absolutely terrible, if he was completely honest. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“I suppose it does make sense” he finally answered. “Human contact allows the production of oxytocin, and without wariness of hostile contact, the hormonal answer would bring a positive feeling...”

He trailed off. It was very nice, and he had an instinct it would be even nicer in silence. He could feel his muscle relax already, as though, for just this moment, he was completely and absolutely safe. Feeling rather drowsy, and not wanting this new comfort to end, he wrapped an arm around Richard's torso and brought him with him as he lied down under the covers again. It took a few minutes of awkward shuffling before they found a somewhat comfortable position, but soon enough they were sleeping, holding each other tight for their first peaceful night in years.

* * *

When Alfred woke Bruce up, he told him that their guests were yet to come out of their rooms, and suggested the master of the house inform them that breakfast would be served shortly. Bruce understood the unvoiced request; as capable as Alfred was, waking up and potentially startling already unsettled child soldiers was a task best left to the Batman.

He went in search of his new wards, randomly choosing to knock on Richard's door first. The silence he received was not entirely unexpected. While he was certain his knock had awoken the boy, if his footsteps hadn't done it first, not exposing his presence and location in the room was a valid strategy, considering he didn't know who was on the other side of the door. So Bruce waited a bit, before announcing who he was and knocking again. Again, he got no answer. A little concerned, he knocked a third time, warning that, lacking a sign of life, he would enter anyway.

He was loath to breach the child's privacy like that, especially since he probably hadn't been allowed any in years, but he was starting to get worried. What if Ra's _had_ been bold enough to come get the children in his home after all?

With that thought in mind, he entered the room, only to find it completely empty, bed lied in but remade, and sheets already cold. The bathroom proved to be empty too, although no sign of struggle could be found. Surely if ninjas had come to take him he would have resisted, right? Unless... unless they had already gotten to Damian. He had seen the way they lingered around each other, how they stayed in each other's peripheral vision the whole time. They were clearly very protective of each other. Perhaps even more than what was League-acceptable. Perhaps _that_ had been why they had left Nanda Parbat.

Feeling the panic rising in his chest again and resolved to ponder the matter further once both boys were accounted for, he rushed towards his biological son's room. Heedless of privacy this time, he slammed the door open, only to find the two children jumping out of each other's arms as though burned. They turned to stare at him, fear and the last remnant of sleep and surprise in their eyes. Rising his hand non-threateningly, Bruce took a step backwards.

“Damian, Richard... I apologize for bursting in the room and breaching your privacy like that. I did not find Richard in his room and worried you might have been taken in the night. It was thoughtless of me, I am sorry.”

Their look turned confused, though still wary. They were probably unused to receiving apologies from hierarchic superiors, and it seemed like they were still expecting some form of comment – or perhaps punishment? – for what Bruce had witnessed.

Silence fell on the room, growing more awkward by the second.

“Well, now that you're accounted for, I'll leave you two alone. Alfred would like you to know breakfast is about to be served, though. I trust you'll find your way back to the kitchen?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned tail and fled – not that he ran, he still had an image to maintain; but he just… left, a little more brusquely than was really needed.

_That_ had probably been the most awkward conversation in his life. Why had he ever thought he could take care of these children already?

He recalled the fear in their eyes, like they were expecting punishment for _hugging_. _That_ was why. Deciding instead to focus on the glimpse of their embrace he had caught, he made his way downstairs. They had been absolutely adorable. He hoped they would one day willingly let him witness something like that. Perhaps a discussion of all the things allowed after breakfast would be a good first step towards that goal.

* * *

Bruce's hasty departure left the boys sitting frozen on each side of the bed. Richard broke the spell first, getting out of the bed to stand, shoulder hunched, gaze fixed to the ground, back to his partner.

“I'm sorry.” He said after a beat. “You were right. I'll go back to my room and change.”

There was something in his voice, in his posture, that didn't settle with Damian. He didn't quite know what, but he knew he needed to fix it. He only had to find out _how_. Since the very beginning, Richard had been the one to initiate things: he'd cracked a joke when they first met, shown kindness even in an assassins' nest, let Damian in on his doubts, and so many other things that eventually led them to this attempt at freedom.

It was his own turn, now. He needed to reach back, to be the one with hope and ideas this time, and that started with fixing this. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself.

“Richard, wait!” He managed just as the other reached the door. “There is nothing to apologize for. I wasn't right, you were.” This was hard, so hard, what were words and where were they and why were they even a thing?

Actually, they didn't _have_ to be. Few of the decisions they'd come to together had been voiced aloud. Clearly words were not what he needed to get his point across. Instead, he stood, joined the other boy. Sent him a look, attempted a smile – he'd need more practice – and went for a hug.

Just as nice as the previous one had been, he noted. After a few seconds, barely loud enough to hear, he whispered “I'm not sorry”.

He didn't say “I care about you and I want to act upon it”, or “if this displeases my father, then he can go to hell with my mother” or even “we will leave this place too if we must, even if we need to burn it to the ground first”. He didn't need to, because Richard heard it anyway.

When they parted, the ex-Talon gave him something that looked a little more like an actual smile, though it was still rusty from lack of practice.

“I'll come back when I'm done” he added, somewhat out of the blue. With that, he left.

Damian was both relieved and disappointed to see him go, as he felt completely unbalanced after this unusual display of emotions. Yet, for the first time since it had all started, he felt centered, like a boat shaken by a storm but still safely anchored close to land. He didn't know where he would be the next day, or even how breakfast would go, he was still mostly clueless about right and wrong, but he knew that this caring, this friendship was right.

This he would put above all. Understanding the finer points of morality would be the next priority, because if it hadn't been for this friendship, this quest of theirs would have never happened at all. If Richard hadn't existed, then this version of himself wouldn't either.

He hoped his father would not separate them, though, because the Batman himself seemed like the best candidate to teach them how to be good.


End file.
